


the evolution of a complex vocabulary

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes sense that a pair of complicated geniuses would need complicated words to make sense of their relationship. </p>
<p>Fitz and Simmons through the years, told with untranslatable words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the evolution of a complex vocabulary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adaughterofeve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaughterofeve/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't speak any of these languages except a little French so if something isn't quite right, blame the internet.

**_i. S’entendre_ ** **: French. A reflexive verb that literally means “hearing (each other)”; it means to get along with someone in the sense you understand what they think.**

 

It wasn’t often in her life that Simmons had felt understood. That was to be expected, of course. It came with the territory of being a child prodigy and the most advanced scientist in your chosen field. It wasn’t always easy. She’d been a very lonely child, wanting so badly to make friends, to be liked, but being so young and socially clumsy. 

 

And then came Fitz.

 

Fitz, who was her rival first and her lab partner second, before he ever became her friend. Fitz who finished her sentences, who knew what she needed before she did, be it a hug, or a particular beaker. Their thoughts made sense to each other from the moment they started working together. It was no wonder he’d become her best friend. No one had ever understood her before to begin with, let alone with the ease of and the extent to which Fitz did. And she knew it was the same for him.

 

“Hey, Simmons, would you pass me that wrench over there?” Fitz called from the other end of their lab on the Bus, shaking Simmons out of her nostalgic reverie. 

 

“Of course. Are you-”

 

“Recalibrating the mass spec to allow for a wider range of foreign particles, yeah.”

 

“Yes, it will be good to get some wavelengths from the 084 programmed in.”

 

“Mhm. Plus-”

 

“Coulson would ask you to do it eventually anyway, right?” she smiled.

 

“You got it. How’s your analysis of that affected soil going?”

 

“Slowly but well.”

 

“Give the results to me when you finish yeah? Might be useful for this.” he thumped the side of the mass spec almost affectionately, and shot a grin her way.

 

“I was already planning on it.” 

 

**_ii. Cafuné_ ** **: Brazilian Portuguese. The act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair.**

 

Fitz didn’t think he’d ever been so terrified in his entire life. Even after Simmons had gone to bed after the ordeal of the day, very much deserving an early night after the whole almost dying and jumping out of a plane situation, he was sitting shaken where she’d left him nearly an hour before. He’d almost lost her. The thought sent a horrible chill down his spine. Just as he was steeling himself to do…. something, either go to bed or make tea or wake up Simmons for his own selfish comfort, he felt her enter the room.

 

“Fitz?” her voice was soft and hoarse. She must have been crying, at some point.

 

“Hey. I was just going to go see if you were sleeping.”

 

“I couldn’t. I kept feeling like I was still falling.”

 

“Jemma…” her given name slipped from his lips accidentally, still caught up in the earlier terror. He didn’t bother correcting himself.

 

“Would you do me a favor, Fitz?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“It’s a bit silly… and we haven’t done it since our first year at the Academy….” she trailed often, clearly unwilling or unable to finish her thought, but Fitz knew what she was asking.

 

“Of course I will. Honestly, I think it might be good for both of us right now.” his voice went quieter, and Simmons nodded in assent. Silently, they shuffled back to her bunk, Simmons shutting the door behind them. Every once in awhile, at the Academy their first year, they’d sleep in the same bed. After all, back then they were little more than scared kids. And after the day they’d had, the comfort would be welcome. 

 

Simmons wedged herself up against the wall, where she felt safest, and Fitz slid in beside her, pulling the quilt tightly around them both. Not bothering with nervous fidgeting, Simmons promptly curled into Fitz’s chest, hugging him tightly. She didn’t say anything, but he could both feel and hear her sniffling, so he extracted one of his arms and gently started running it through her long hair.

 

With his other hand on her back, Fitz carefully fingered combed all the fitful tangles from the waves of Simmons’ hair. It wasn’t the first time, he’d done it often at the Academy, when she was stressed about exams, or simply having a bad day. It soother her faster than anything else did. As he rubbed her scalp lightly, he could feel her start to relax against him. He didn’t stop though, the familiar action was a comfort to him as well. A reminder of a much simpler, less dangerous, time. 

 

“Thank you.” she whispered, her voice low, and finally calm and sleepy.

 

“Anything for you, Jems.” 

 

The next morning when they woke up, his fingers were still tangled in her hair. 

 

**iii.** **_Kilig_ ** **: Tagalog. That feeling you get from having interacted with a person you love or find attractive – butterflies in your stomach, blushing, giggling/smiling uncontrollably.** **To experience this emotion is referred to as “kinikilig”**

 

Ever since she’d jumped out of the Bus and into the air around it, and the night that followed that horrible event, something was just different. Simmons was struggling with something she hadn’t in years. The something being the leaping feeling in her stomach, like the first hill of a rollercoaster, whenever Fitz smiled, or brushed against her, or their thighs touched on the sofa during movie nights. Everytime she felt a blush rise to her cheeks and a dopey smile stretch across her face, she chided herself. She’d thought she’d gotten over this particular silly crush long ago. 

 

Not to mention, Skye had noticed. And now that she’d noticed, she wouldn’t stop bothering Simmons about it, and she was afraid of what Skye might tell Fitz. Not that it would matter, Simmons had deduced long ago, back at Sci-Ops, that Fitz had no romantic interest in her. So she ignored the blushes and the smiles and the rollercoaster swooping in her stomach, and contented herself with the warmth of his hand on her shoulder as they leaned over the same microscope. 

 

Fitz hadn’t noticed any special smiling or blushing from Simmons, as he was far too busy trying to make sure she couldn’t notice his own. Despite her kiss on the cheek and insistence he was the hero after the awful Chitauri incident, he knew he was not, never had been, never would be Simmons’ type. The few people she’d dated at the Academy had all been built like Ward, and Fitz was far from muscular and only had about seven centimeters on Simmons as far as height went. That hadn’t stopped him from nursing a horrible crush on her for years, though. 

 

It had abated for a while, their last few months and Sci-Ops and first few months on the Bus, especially with the temporary distraction of Skye. But once Fitz almost lost her, he no longer saw the point in pretending. If he wanted anybody, it was Simmons. So whenever she pushed up his sleeves for him while they were working in the lab, and made him his favorite sandwich for lunch, or leaned her head on his shoulder while they caught up on Doctor Who, the butterflies in his stomach went into overdrive. But he ignored them, because he’d much rather have her best friendship, have her beside him in any capacity she wanted, than not have her at all. 

 

**_iv. Sarang_ ** **: Korean. Pronounced as “sa-rong”, this is an expression of the wish to be with someone until death.**

 

As far as Fitz was concerned, it was the only option. Simmons was looking at him with terrified pleading eyes, wordlessly begging him to reconsider, to find another solution. But there wasn’t one. He couldn’t live in a world without Jemma Simmons, so he would give his life in exchange for hers. He looked at her, his eyes sad but his lips smiling strangely, and she burst into tears, flinging her arms around his neck. It broke his heart to see her that way, but he was doing what had to be done, what she deserved. She deserved to live, even if it meant he had to die. At least he would die knowing she was his last sight, his last thought, the last person he had touched or spoken to. His last everything. His everything, full stop. 

 

Through her tears, Simmons mumbled.

 

“Don’t do this, Fitz, please, don’t do this to me.” 

 

Even with her pressed close, he could barely hear her, and when he gave no response, her sobs deepened and she pressed her lips in a gentle path across his face. Whether that was her accepting his sacrificing or begging him to reconsider, he kissed her forehead and slammed the button. 

 

The last sound he heard before the darkness took him was her screaming. The first sound he heard nine days later when he woke up was her crying in relief.

 

**_v. Dor_ ** **: Romanian. The longing for someone you love very much, combined with sadness, and implies the need to sing sad songs; its etymology relates it to “dorinta” which means wish.**

 

If you had asked Simmons two years ago whether she thought, one day, she would wonder if her and Fitz were still friends at all, let alone best friends, she would have laughed. There was never a question before. Before the Bus, before Ward, before the pod, before her undercover stint at HYDRA. But now there was only the after. After betrayal, after almost death, after the coma, and the sight of Fitz, so very far away from her no matter where they both were, made her chest ache. 

 

No matter what Simmons had told Bobbi, she loved Fitz. She’d always loved Fitz, it wasn’t a matter of not knowing how, or how much even. She’d always known. But now, with the eggshell fragile truce between them, it was easier to pretend he had only ever been a friend to her. Losing that was bad enough. She tried to summon the ability to cross the room and speak to him, offer him tea, ask him for a hug, anything. But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength to risk rejection. 

 

She couldn’t lose him all over again. She didn’t know how she’d survive. 

**_vi. Mamihlapinatapei_ ** **: Yaghan. A wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but both are reluctant to start**

 

They’re sitting on the floor of the Playground while it all falls apart. They aren’t looking at each other, but they can both tell the other is thinking  _ I can’t believe this is happening again.  _ The silence they share is necessary, with the chaos of Real Shield unfolding, but to Simmons it feels stifling. She wants to talk to Fitz, she needs to hear his voice, hear him call her by name. Because the world is falling apart all over again and all she wants is her solid ground and that’s Fitz. That’s been Fitz for a decade. Carefully, without turning to him, she reaches over, and puts her hand over his, where it rests on his leg. Fervently, she hopes he doesn’t pull away.

 

Fitz is dazed, trying to take in everything happening, happening all over again, when a soft, familiar warmth shakes him out of it. He looks down, and Simmons hand is on top of his. He swallows, pushes back thoughts of a spectre laying her hand on his shoulder, letting him lay his fingers over hers. He reminds himself it wasn’t real. But this is, this is real, right now. So he lays his hand over hers, and squeezes her fingers. Cautiously, Fitz looks over at her. She’s staring down at their hands, but feels his eyes, and looks up, meeting his gaze. 

 

Everything in the past months and years hangs between them in that silent moment. Everything they’ve known, on some level, that all they knew this was leading. Something else, something between them that was deeper and bigger and more. They both want it, they want so badly to cross that decades old line they’ve slowly eroded over the years, each can feel it in the warmth and thrum of the other’s pulse as their wrists lay upon each other. But now is not the time. And somewhere, in the back of their minds, they are both wondering if it ever will be. 

 

**vii.** **_Orenda_ ** **: Huron.** **The power of human will to change the world. Set up as an opposing force to fate or destiny. If powerful forces beyond your control are trying to force a particular outcomes, orenda is a kind of vocalised summoning of personal strength to change this.**

 

Fitz, kneeling on the floor in front of the rock, feeling exhausted and defeated, decided that the world, the universe, some strange outward force, simply didn’t want him and Simmons to be together. Not just romantically, but at all. This was hardly the first time this had happened. First there had been the virus, the seeming lack of cure, the person he loved most hurtling from a plane when all he could do was watch. The mission to Ossetia, the suicide mission they didn’t expect him to survive, the look of concern and terror on Simmons’ face as she watched him pack. The pod, and the rush of water and aborted sacrifice, sometimes he blamed it on him, for giving up. Sometimes he blamed Ward. Then he was broken and she left him and he thought it was over, for good. 

 

But they’d  _ fixed _ it, he thought desperately to himself from where he’d collapsed. They had worked so hard and clawed their way back from the dead, resurrected their broken friendship and plastered it together with care and love and the possibility of something more. And then the rock, the bloody stupid rock, had taken her away from him. From everyone. From this world that loved her so dearly, and that she loved even more. The world she fought so hard, so unfailingly, to keep safe. Jemma Simmons would have given her life to keep the world, and her loved ones, safe. She’d tried before. 

 

Fitz fixed the rock with a glare, struggling to his feet, knuckles bloodied from his fit. He couldn’t give up, not now. She hadn’t left him to die at the bottom of the ocean. She’d dragged him, unbreathing, to the surface. She’d saved him. Really, she saved him every day, just by existing near him. A world with Jemma Simmons in it couldn’t be all bad. But a world without her? That was something Fitz could not allow. 

 

“I’ll figure you out, you know.” he glared at the rock again “And I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring her home. I don’t care what it takes.” 

 

**viii.** **_Geborgenheit_ ** **: German.** **To feel completely safe; like nothing could ever harm you. Usually connected to a particular place or person.**

 

Growing up, Simmons was always one of those people who saw mystery and wonder in everything. Even the virus that tried to kill her. But then a man she thought of as a friend, a brother even, let her and Fitz fall from a plane, and ever since, nothing has ever seemed quite right. When Fitz was in a coma, she was so alone, even with the team around to support her. Then he woke up and he wasn’t the same, and she couldn’t help him, and so she left, because him being better was so much more important than her feeling safe, grounded. So she went to Hydra, and spent every moment of every day waiting to be found out, waiting to die to protect her friends. 

 

But she got to go back the SHIELD, she go to go back to her friends, to go home to Fitz, and everything was so wrong a first. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again. She’d been clawing her way back there, working hard to feel secure, when it happened. When she was sucked into a parallel universe and stranded for six months, fighting for her life. 

 

And then, when she finally got home again, her whole world was off balance, like gravity had vanished, or changed. She didn’t know what to do about it, about anything, about herself. She woke up screaming and shaking, she woke up terrified. But whenever she woke up, terror wracking her body, she knew one thing. Simmons knew if she convinced herself to move, to leave her room and go elsewhere, she could go to Fitz. She could go to Fitz and he would hold her, he would be her solid ground, the gravity keeping her feet level to the earth. 

 

At some point, he kisses her, and they’re fighting, and it’s complicated, but she still crawls into his bed that night. He still holds her. 

 

“Fitz?” she murmurs into the dark, close space between them one night, her voice sleepy, her body lulled by the solid beat of Fitz’s heart and the huff and shuffle of his breath. 

 

“Y’Jem?” his voice is gritty with sleep, and it warms her from the inside out. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“For what?” the strangeness of the statement has roused him, just slightly, and he looks at her, eyes barely visible in the dark. 

 

“For always making me feel… safe. At home. Like even though the world has become a horrible dark dangerous place, as long as you’re here, and I’m with you, I’m going to be okay. You… You’re my home, Fitz. You’re home.”

 

Embarrassed, she presses her face to his chest, smiling as she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head. 

 

“I love you, Jemma, y’know that right?”

 

“I know. I love you too. You… you did know, didn’t you?”

 

“I knew.” he nods, voice growing sleepy again. “Reckon we both always did.”

 

Fitz kisses the top of her head again, and Simmons sighs contentedly, relaxing against him and following him into sleep, wrapped in the safe haven of his arms. No nightmares wake her that night. 

**Author's Note:**

> There you are, adaughterofeve! I hope you liked it! It was super fun to write!


End file.
